


Xyresic

by brightingales (zoeteniets)



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Pet Names, Prostitution, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16643093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeteniets/pseuds/brightingales
Summary: Xyresic (adj.) “Razor sharp”.The Nightingales are the most powerful family in town. James and Marnie are running the whole operation, Romeo is trying to make sure no one gets killed, and Harry is 'just' a barman.





	Xyresic

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings – mentions of blood. It’s implied that the characters have killed people in the past and have no problems doing so again (hey, it is the mafia). Romeo is totes bisexual in this one. Harry’s past prostitution is implied.
> 
> Harry and Romeo’s characteristics in this fic are partly based on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlDGFrP4NgI

 

Marnie is running late. Romeo isn’t surprised; he knows his Grandmother well enough by now. He and James have planned for this so it’s hardly a problem. Still, he is uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat and wishing he could be somewhere else. The client and James are making small talk quietly beside him. Romeo is surprised they can hear each other over the din of noise in the club, but they seem to be getting on well enough. He keeps one eye on the client, watching him as he watches their surroundings, trying to work out what it is about the man that sets his teeth on edge.

Every now and again, something catches the client’s eye. Usually, it’s a punter – someone dressed to the nines wearing the best that they own, yet still looking effortless with it. James and Marnie have worked very hard to make sure that  _ Nightingales _ only attracts the most exclusive type of clientele. It’s no secret that the family business is run from the secluded booths that form a ring around the dance floor. The pretty figures may look like they’re here to have a good time but the Nightingale family, and all who work with them, have always had a similar attitude towards the idea of mixing business with pleasure.

It’s not a problem if their client wants to chat up someone on the dancefloor, and Romeo takes a look around hoping that Mr Big  (not his name – Romeo hadn’t been paying attention when he had given it; he was too busy looking him up and down to see if he had any concealed weapons on him) will see something that catches his fancy and be distracted enough that Romeo can make his concerns known to his father.

Naturally, nothing is ever perfect in Romeo’s life. He gets his wish, but in the worst way possible. Of all the people Mr Big could cast his fancy upon he has to pick the one person who is completely and totally off limits.    

Harry is a very good barman. When James had (finally) employed him at the club, Romeo had expected him to become one of their paid dancing staff – there to keep the floor full of bodies and to soften up the most difficult clients. But James had admonished him for the suggestion, decrying it as too clichéd, reminding him that they were all working for a real mafia, not the glamorised Hollywood version, and emphasising to him that Harry had chosen to work at the bar instead of using his  _ other talents _ . Romeo had only half believed him; after all, his father was known for his jealous side.

It’s a loud laugh that calls Mr Big’s attention over to the bar. It’s Harry’s smile and boyish good looks that keeps it there.

James sees this.

“Why don’t you go and order a drink while we wait?” he suggests. “Tell Harry that I said it’s on the house.”

“Is the Black Widow always this late?” Mr Big says. His tone of voice implies that he has just told a joke. Romeo doesn’t laugh. Neither does James. 

“My mother always does like to make an entrance,” James assures him instead.

They both watch Mr Big get up and saunter over to the bar. Romeo leans over to James, eyes still on Harry, “I don’t like this.”

“If you’re going to stay in this business, you’re going to have to learn how to deal with  _ unsavoury _ characters,” James says with a particular sneer in his voice. The client leans too far over the bar to get Harry’s attention, and Romeo and James simultaneously roll their eyes at how he leers at Harry’s backside when he turns and pours a drink from the optics.

“I thought you said that we didn’t let anyone touch what is ours.” 

James’s voice is firm, with just a touch of steel. “We don’t.”

Grandma Marnie chooses that moment to make her entrance, so beautifully timed that Romeo is halfway sure she must have been hovering behind them and listening to their conversation. Romeo is good at his job – that’s why his father is considering him for a promotion after all. He can keep track of six different people in a crowded room without once losing sight of any of them. He can find anyone in a city of thousands of people. But Grandma Marnie? Somehow she always manages to elude him.

Naturally, a bottle of champagne is needed, even though the deal has yet to be finalised. Romeo volunteers to fetch it, taking the opportunity to slide along the bar to where the client is still standing, trying to make small talk with Harry even though his drink was handed to him ages ago. Romeo whispers in the client’s ear that Marnie has finally arrived and is thrilled to see the back of him as he returns to the table where the heads of the Nightingale family sit as still and as impervious as statues.

“Keep an eye on him,” he warns Harry.

“I can take care of myself, Romeo.” 

Harry hands over a bottle of champagne, so chilled that Romeo can feel the cold glass through his leather gloves, and a lime and soda for James. It's best he has his wits about him tonight.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.” Romeo sneaks a glance back at the table where the negotiations should have started in earnest. Instead, the client is  _ still _ giving Harry the eye, seemingly not noticing the way James and Marnie are glaring at him, insulted by his impudence.

“See?”

“It’s ok, Romeo,” Harry says, with an amused grin. “You can’t have everyone who looks at me funny thrown out of the bar. You’d have no customers left. We’re all doing our jobs here, aren’t we? James is running the business, I’m standing here looking pretty, and you’re making sure that we’re both safe as we do it.”

To anyone else, this would sound like a friendly reassurance. But Romeo knows Harry, and he hears the statement for what it is – a warning that James’s safety might be at risk. 

Harry knows something about this client, and he’s letting Romeo know about it in the subtlest way possible. He and Harry might look very close in age, but Harry has been in this game for far longer; Romeo would be an idiot if he didn’t take his advice. 

When he returns to the table, the atmosphere is frosty.

“Romeo! Wonderful! Just what we need!” Marnie says. Of course, she means the champagne, not Romeo himself. He doesn’t mind though. He really does want to take on more of a role in the business and James has promised that he soon will, but Romeo has to admit that the finer details of contract negotiation still completely bore him.

Romeo can talk to anyone; he’s never had a problem with that. But there is a certain type of man that always makes his hackles rise, makes him want to curl in on himself and not utter another word. The sort of man that would come to his mother late at night, a handful of money clenched in his fists and smile stretched too wide across his jaw. The type of man that swaggers across the street and expects the rest of the world to move out of the way. Romeo can talk to a warehouse owner, a police officer, a pimp, and a man grovelling for his life (sometimes all at once) and always get the result he wants, with just a gentle touch and a soft smile. 

But a man like this?

Romeo would rather spit on him than schmooze him.

It had caused a lot of tension when he’d first met his father. They had taken one look at each other and jumped to a whole set of conclusions that didn’t hold any weight but still took a lot of time and effort to shift. When James looked at Romeo, he saw the same sort of brainless thug, hanging around the team of enforcers, begging for cash-in-hand work, whose loyalty could be bought with a beer and a blonde. When Romeo looked at James, he saw exactly the sort of man who would shove £50 into a stripper’s bra and then pickpocket it back from her thirty minutes later.

Of course, they were both monumentally wrong and once their assumptions were corrected, Romeo had thrown himself into the task of learning the family business from the ground up. Marnie had warned James (directly in Romeo’s hearing – she’d never bothered being subtle) that Romeo was just looking to cut himself a slice of the Nightingale pie and that he would run off as soon as James placed any responsibility on him. 

Romeo had sworn to prove her wrong, but really such a vow hadn’t been necessary. A stray bullet, a snap decision, and an incident that had earned his grandmother her most hated moniker had been enough to cement his place at the family table.

Which is why he’s here now, not drinking the glass of champagne Marnie has put in front of him and trying to stare down a man who has no interest in finding out who Romeo is and what he can do.   

The meeting is pointless; Romeo has barely taken anything in and hands are being shaken across the table so fast it’s obvious that this was more about formalities than negotiations. Marnie is gone as soon as her glass is empty and the three of them are back exactly where they started half an hour ago – Mr Big. leering, Romeo glaring, and James as impassive as ever.

Without any prompting, Mr Big asks, “How did you get Christopher to give up Harry?”

“You know him?” the question is out of Romeo’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Oh yeah. I  _ know _ him. Harry and I go  _ way _ back.”

The leather gloves on Romeo’s hands creak as he clenches his fists. James very lightly touches his own hand to Romeo’s knee.

_ ‘I’ve got this.’ _ Romeo might only have known his father for a year, but he can read his gestures as though he had known him all his life. It’s the Nightingale blood.

“Christopher was in debt,” James explains. “He couldn’t pay. So, we sorted out an alternative arrangement.”

For some reason, the client finds that hilarious. “Bet he hated that! Harry was his best earner, and I know Christopher had a particular soft spot for him.”

“Don’t we all?” James smiles as he raises his glass to his lips. 

What on earth is he playing at?

Mr Big leans over the table and drops his voice to an elaborate stage whisper. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to throw in a little sweetener to our deal? I think we’ve given you and your family some very generous terms here and we might even be able to sort out something else. Something more long term. Providing that the price is right?”

James leans back in his chair. He can’t seriously be considering this? Romeo is always under strict orders to never let anyone lay a finger on Harry, and yet now his father seems to be willing to give him away just because somebody asked. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Harry’s just a barman these days,” James says. “What he gets up to in his free time is completely up to him. I run a very different business here to the one Christopher did. If you want something from Harry, you’ll have to ask him yourself. It’s no business of mine.”

The client doesn’t need telling twice. He’s up and over to the bar like a shot.

“What are you playing at?” Romeo hisses at his father.

“Don’t be so dramatic; everything I said is true.”

“James, I know what you do to people who threaten Harry. I’ve still got the bloodstains in the boot of my car. You can’t seriously tell me you’re going to let Harry do this?”

“Harry can do what he wants; I’m not going to stop him.”

“Dad!”

That gets James’s attention. James tears his eyes from where he’s been watching Harry, albeit reluctantly. Romeo can see the way James’s body still leans slightly toward the direction of the bar, ready to intervene in the situation as soon as Harry needs him.  

“It’s sweet that you’re worried,” James tells him. “Really, I’m impressed by how dedicated you are to your job. And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be looking out for Harry; you absolutely should. If one hair on his head is harmed, there will be hell to pay. But you need to realise – Harry is a lot tougher than he looks.”

As if to prove his point, James gestures to where Harry and Mr Big now stand, in a corner of the room between the exit and the bar that always makes a good spot for a quiet conversation. No one but the family that runs the business would know to look there, and Mr Big has clearly dragged Harry there under the false impression that they won’t be seen.   

Harry isn’t leaning into the touches he’s receiving, but he isn’t pushing them away either. Romeo watches as a friendly touch on Harry’s elbow becomes a caress of his shoulder. Mr Big’s hand slides up to the collar of Harry’s shirt, to the back of his neck, into his hair…

It all happens very fast.

Just as Romeo notices James shift in his seat, his composure finally broken, there’s a sudden movement. Quick as a flash, Mr Big is pushed up against the wall, held there by Harry’s forearm against his chest and a bright, gleaming switchblade against his throat.

Romeo is on his feet, ready to leap in and rescue Harry, but it looks like he doesn’t need his help. Instead, Romeo refocuses his attention, watching Harry’s lips so that he can read the conversation.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Harry says, his beautiful features twisted up into a smile so sharp it could cut like a razor. “No one owns me. I’m not some favour to be given away. I’m not a sweetener. I’m not some toy for you to chew on. You can’t pay me anymore; I give it away for free these days. But not to the likes of you. Do you understand me?”

For a horrifying moment, it looks like the client is going to say something stupid. Romeo does some calculations and if he moves fast he should be able to stop most of the blood staining the floor, though he will be sad to ruin his nice new shoes.

The sacrifice won’t be necessary though. Mr Big gives one brief nod. Harry lets him go.

James reaches his hand out to Harry as the younger man comes bounding over to their table, looking like a puppy who has fetched a particularly impressive stick. The switchblade is still out and gripped in his hand, the shine of the metal reflected in Harry’s bright eyes.

“Did you see me with that guy?” Harry asks as James pulls him into his lap, utterly unashamed.  

“Yes, darling, you were wonderful,” James replies, drawing him in for a kiss. Romeo tries not to watch; seeing his father kiss people is gross, but Harry really is very beautiful…

“I didn’t ruin your deal for you, did I?” Harry asks when they break for air. James tugs at him with hands wrapped around his waist, clearly not finished ravishing his lover, but Harry pouts until he answers.

“No, love. The terms were rotten anyway. He’ll be bankrupt before the end of next week and then he’ll no longer be our problem. He can go to the McQueens if he’s that desperate.”

They’re straight back to kissing, Harry writhing with pleasure on James’s lap, rocking his hips in a way that is completely indecent. They’re whispering in each other’s ears – endearments that Romeo can only half hear.

“You were so hot watching me like that… he tried to put his hands on me, but I only want you…”

“My little viper… You look so gorgeous with a blade in your hand…”

Romeo’s phone rings and both of them stop suddenly to look at him. Harry is endearingly flushed. His father looks pissed off.

“No phones at work,” James says sharply.

“Sorry!”

“Oh, leave him be,” Harry says, turning James’s face back to him with a gentle touch to his jawline. “He’s allowed to have a life outside us you know.”

Romeo risks a glance at his phone’s screen. Harry is right – he is allowed to have his own life, but he’s taken some big risks lately, and if the wrong person finds out what he’s done then he’ll have to start worrying about getting blood on his shoes all over again.

“Well, I suppose we’d better let him go live it then!” James says. “We’re done here for the night.”

“I’ll go back to the bar…” Harry begins, but James interrupts him.

“Oh no. I’m not done with you. I might be good at pretending, but I was ready to throttle that disgusting excuse for a man as soon as he laid a finger on you. I need all your attention on me for the rest of the night.”

James’s words and threatening tone would frighten any sensible person, but Harry melts at the sound of them. Romeo has seen a lot in the past year, but he’ll never understand Harry and James’s relationship - their possessiveness and devotion to each other.

“Romeo, bring the car around. As long as you take Harry back to the flat first, you can have it for the rest of the night to do… whatever it is you’re up to....”

“I want to stay here with you!” Harry protests.

“And I actually need to get some proper work done tonight after that disaster of a deal,” James counters. “I’ll be an hour at most. You go home and  _ wait _ for me…” Romeo doesn’t want to think about the suggestion in his father’s voice. 

“Fine, but I need to come up to your office and get my things,” Harry replies. “Romeo, why don’t you go and call whoever that is back? It would be rude to leave them hanging.”

For the second time in the night, Romeo feels the distinct sensation that some sort of danger is lurking around the corner. But this time he can’t tell if it’s coming from an external threat, or from the sudden knife-sharp glint in in Harry’s eyes.

...

Harry slides into the back of the car, only five minutes late. It’s a bit of a record; James always keeps Harry behind for ages on nights like these. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what they get up to; the love bites on Harry’s throat, his flushed cheeks and swollen lips give the game away. Romeo sometimes finds it hard not to stare.

“All right, Romeo?” Harry says, a little breathless, as if he’s just run down the stairs from James’s office and thrown himself into the backseat of the car. He’s wearing a huge grin and a brand-new fur coat. 

“You know, if you don’t want people calling you a ‘gangster’s moll’ you should probably tone it down a little bit?” Romeo tells him. Harry only snuggles his face into the fur, looking up at Romeo through his lashes with a coy expression.

“I know; It’s ridiculous,” he says, clearly referring to the coat, “I’m sure your Dad only bought it as a joke.” They both know that’s probably not true; James is much more likely to have taken it off someone as collateral. “I only put it on to tease him, but then… things got out of hand and…”

“Oh no. Please shut up.” Romeo groans, causing Harry to smirk at him again.

“I’m not worried about someone taking the mick or anything. You saw tonight; I can handle myself. And even if I can’t, I know you’re always watching my back.” This time Harry’s smile is fond. It’s strange but Romeo’s job of watching Harry and making sure he stays out of trouble is no longer the onerous task it started out as. Hanging out with Harry like this is actually kind of fun. Though, it is a strange relationship to have with his sort-of step-dad. Who also happens to be only four years older than him.

“Speaking of watching each other’s back,” Harry says, leaning forwards so that he can rest his forearm on the driver’s seat, dropping his voice low as if he’s worried that they might be overheard, “I know you’ve been seeing cousin Lilly.”

Romeo’s eyes immediately flick up to the rear-view mirror, trying to read Harry’s expression whilst not giving away his own. 

He needs to tread very carefully. Christ, he was stupid to think he could ever get away with this.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell your father,” Harry says. “Even if I did, he’d not have a leg to stand on. He dated a McQueen too. Hell, he was even going to marry one of them. Sure, JP was on the straight and narrow, unlike the rest, but even so…”

“Lilly, she’s not one of them…” Romeo replies, but his voice is shaking.

“I know that. You know that. I’m sure James knows that too. But you do not want to get mixed up in another family’s business. In all senses of the word.”

“Ok. Thanks. I’ll be discrete.”

“You’d better.” Harry leans back into his own seat and buckles his seatbelt around himself, needing to pull the strap harder than usual to make room for that ridiculous coat. “Maybe try being a bit more careful though. Lilly’s not the McQueen I’m warning you about. She might be on the side of the angels, but her husband certainly isn’t. And if it was just an affair between you and her, I wouldn’t be all that worried. The McQueens might be involved in every operation in town but the Nightingales are still the puppet masters; they’d be stupid to make a move against us right now. If you break  _ his _ heart though, you might not be able to stop things from getting messy.”

Romeo is sure he is blushing. He can’t bear to look Harry in the eye. “I thought… I thought we were being careful.”

“You were,” Harry says, almost reassuringly. “I’m just very good at what I do. Your dad doesn’t just keep me around for my looks, you know. And like I said – I’ve got your back.” 

Romeo can’t tell if that’s meant to make him feel reassured. 

Either way, it doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic lays the foundation for what could be a much larger alternative universe. We shall have to see how that pans out... 
> 
> Massive thanks to the indomitable @bambiesque who did an amazing beta read on this for me!
> 
> I'm @brightingales on tumblr. This fic was written as a partial fill to a prompt on @jarryprompts


End file.
